Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Some days the only way I can motivate myself to go to work is the possibility I might have a conversation like this.

Child, upon exiting the bathroom:

Kid: Uhhh, I need to go change

Me: Why?

Kid: I got pee on me.

Me: You peed yourself? Oh man. Ok, well go change your pants.

Kid: No, It's on my shirt. (Points to the back of his shoulder)

Me: But dude, you're wearing short sleeves. How did you get pee on the back of your arm? I don't
even think that's humanly possible.

(Insert disturbing and confusing mental images)

Kid: (sniffing) Yeah. It's pee. It smells bad. See? (attempts to stick pee-sleeve in my face)

Me: NO I'M GOOD. I BELIEVE YOU. JESUS CHRIST PLEASE TAKE A STEP BACK. I just want you to explain how it got on your sleeve.

Kid: Well, there was pee on the floor.

Me: And what? You were rolling on the bathroom floor? Is that something you normally do?

Kid: No, I wasn't on the floor, the pee was on the floor.

Me: Yeah, I got that. HOW DID IT GET ON YOUR SLEEVE?

Kid: Uhhh, my shirt got in it.


Kid: Well it was on the floor. Where the pee was.


Kid: I took it off. Cause I was peeing.

Me: So you just felt like doing some shirtless peeing today?

Kid: Yeah

Me: Why would you take your shirt off?

Kid: I just wanted to.

Me: Well then. I don't even know what to say now. Go change your shirt.

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Also also...

See, this time the also makes sense.
Recently I was remembering how awesome MS Paint was. Remember that program? It was the coolest.

So I tried to go draw something in MS Paint. But it turns out I have a mac and it doesn't have that program. Luckily the magical interweb had something equivalent called paintbrush. So I totally downloaded it for free and got to work writing Dino a really sweet email, where all my loving messages were enclosed in hearts.
It started off well

Only my handwriting looked like a 6 year old's. I swear to god I used to have more skills on MS Paint.

Since my handwriting didn't look very romantic, my messages got progressively less romantic too.

But then I felt bad and I had to reign it in a little.

Oh man. That is gross.
Even I was grossed out by myself.
So was he. I have officially ruined romance with fake MS Paint. Sigh.
Conclusions to be drawn from this:
1. Sometimes you might think you're an artist. But you're probably wrong
2. Writing with a touchpad is like writing with one of those pens they sold at those novelty stores where it vibrates and you think it's funny for all of 4 minutes but then if you buy it you realize immediately that you have just wasted your money because this isn't fun any more guys. (Unless you come up with other uses for your pen.)
3. People sometimes think that artists are romantic. But then you think about Picasso and you wouldn't really want to be painted by him would you? That feels more like a veiled insult. And then when your boyfriend who thinks he's a writer writes a poem about you they are usually cheesy and horrible and you feel a little embarrassed for him and your libido shrivels like a stale raisin. I think the only kind of romantic artists are musicians. One time I sang Teenage Dream to Dino accompanied by my ukulele. It seemed like he liked it. But it might have had more to do with me being dressed in just a ukulele. I can't be sure.
4. Don't ask me for romance advice. My ideas blow.

And also...

I realize that this will appear above the other post I did today, and people will say "Also what? What are you alsoing?"
Rather than answer that question I will tell you that alsoing isn't a word. Stop asking things.

A few nights ago I went to see a movie with my friend Simone.
We were getting some foods and Simone ordered a really fancy overly expensive Pomegranate Italian soda, and I was like "Well that ice looks good. I want some water. With ice. For not $4"

So the dudepants starts filling a little tiny stupid cup with water. And I say
"Um, maybe can you put it in the bigger cup? Like the one that my friend has?"
and he's all
"Nope. Only this cup."
And I in a friendly way say
"Oh. That's really a small cup. I'll pay you a quarter for a bigger cup..."
He says
"No, if I give you a bigger cup I have to charge you for a soda like she has."
"You have to charge me $4 for a cup of water in a slightly larger cup? For reals?"
and he looks at me like I'm the stupidest woman on the planet and says
"Haven't you ever been to a place that inventories cups before??!!"
I said I hadn't and he just put down my water and walked off in a spiteful way.

So at first I was mad because he was a jerk and thiswaterissodamnsmallitisalreadygoneyoudouchebag.
But then I realized that guess what he does for a living?
Gives me water and smells like popcorn and inventories cups.
So I guess I win at life.  

P.S.  Do places seriously inventory cups? As a manager, how do you motivate your employees to do a good job at that? "Now Doug, your job for the 1-2am slot on inventory night is to COUNT THOSE BIG PLASTIC CUPS. If there are any less than 583 you need to LET ME KNOW IMMEDIATELY BECAUSE IT MEANS WE HAVE A BIG PLASTIC CUP SHRINKAGE PROBLEM ON OUR HANDS. I don't want to have to bring this up at that morning meeting where we do weird movie-theater oriented cheers and compliment each other for filling up the butter flavoring machine preemptively, so COUNT CAREFULLY. I'm trusting you with this job Doug. Don't let me down."

P.P.S. I realized after posting that when you post something after midnight it is actually the next day, thus making my title IRRELEVANT because it totally looks like I'm just posting things on totally different days. It feels kind of late for me to be writing coherent sentences. This is what happens when the guy at Medieval Times says "My lady, would you care for some coffee?" and you are surrounded by 3 shrieking children and you think "Indeed, I love coffee and it will improve this situation immensely." You were wrong.

Monday, September 5, 2011

Conversation with one of the crazy kids I work with upon exiting Medieval Times, where there is no light.

Kid: Oh my gosh! It's light out!
Me: Yup.
Kid: So, it's like, it's the next day! It's tomorrow! We were in there all night!
Me: No, we just had dinner and saw a show...
Kid: ...And then we were in there all night! Oh my gosh! We just stayed up all night!
Me: No... we... nevermind.
Kid: Oh my gosh! So now it's tomorrow! It's like we had a sleepover there! Did I sleep? I think I slept.
Me: No, you were awake the whole time...
Kid: I must have slept sometime. Or maybe I didn't. Are we in trouble? We aren't allowed to stay up all night!
Me: No, you're not in trouble.
Kid: Well then so it's morning now! Do we get breakfast?
Me: We literally JUST ate.
Kid: Yeah, but that was dinner. Now it's breakfast time! We just ate dessert! You can't have dessert for breakfast...
Me: Well I guess I'm letting you have dessert for breakfast then. Lucky you.
Kid: But I'm hungry! Breakfast is important!
Me: Seriously? You just ate HALF A CHICKEN.
Kid: I think I'm hungry again though. Because it's morning. Oh my gosh. I can't believe we stayed up all night. This is so great.
Me: Yep. Super great.
Kid: So why is the moon out?
Me: That's just one of the mysteries of life.
Kid: This is the best day.

Sunday, August 21, 2011

I have 3 bruises

It seems like as good a topic as any to start a blog on.

#1. We were at the beach and my boyfriend Dino and I were trying to play a game that looked like badminton but had a little rubber ball instead of a birdie. I say "trying" because not only did I fail to return any of the balls he hit to me, but at least 1/4 of the time I failed to hit the ball on my own serve.
Eventually, in what I think was frustration but Dino insists was "an attempt to indicate the end of the game" he hit the ball groundward in my general direction.

Now if I had tried to hit the ball in his ground-area it probably would have gone in the lake or in a small child's eye or somewhere else that would solidify how embarrassing it is to be seen playing sports with me, but Dino actually has normal person aim and it hit me in the leg. Then he accused me of whining when I said it hurt. And then he went back home to New York so he could pretend that it didn't actually turn all purple 3 days later.

Lucky for him I have photobooth, so you can expect an e-guilttrip arriving in your inbox shortly boyfriend. You're welcome.

#2. I was riding my bike on the sidewalk. Which is illegal in my city, but I was doing it because I was on the phone. I think that biking on the phone is probably illegal too but it feels like a valid justification for breaking the first law, and also I was biking really slow which doesn't actually justify anything.

Some lady was out for a midnight walk with her two dogs, and as my bike approached the dogs started barking and leaping maniacally in the air. Naturally I think "These dogs look like they might try to bolt, and I don't want to run over them so I should slow down." Unfortunately when someone's angry dogs DO try and run at you and are successful, suddenly your very slow moving legs are some very slow moving targets.

Now rather than thinking "Jesus, I am being attacked by two dogs, I should bike away," I remained inexplicably concerned about running over the dogs, stopped moving completely, and shouted into the phone, "Help Dino! There are dogs trying to eat me!" He failed to assist me in any way through the phone line (because probably he was playing some space zombie video game and not listening to me anyway) but luckily the owner eventually re-leashed her beasts, apologized so profusely that I felt guilty and told her I was completely fine despite the obvious bite marks on my legs, and then I biked away feeling really stupid. And now I have some cool bite-shaped bruises on both legs. And also maybe rabies.

#3. I ran into a wall. I recognize that trying to bicycle after 4 martinis wasn't my best plan, but some days you just want to take your brother to the local martini drag bar and the bus isn't coming for 16 whole minutes and fuck that, we're riding our bikes. It seemed like a good plan at the time.

The best part is that the wall I ran into belonged to the weird chop-shop in the alley behind my apartment. These dudes watch me bike past pretty much every day and probably make fun of my helmet or my poorly put-together outfits or the fact that I forgot to zip up my backpack or maybe they're actually saying something nice in that language they're speaking that I don't know, but whatever. Now that I ran into their wall they have something real to make fun of me for. And I have a sweet bruise on my knee. Everybody wins.

Upcoming very important topics:
Children at work saying brilliant things
Why the cat who lives in my house is actually a dog
Who the balls invented long-distance relationships
Best of Busventures